Might Be Right
by misscam
Summary: In this world, the bacon might be rubbish, but fate and free will might still both be right. Hints of Lloyd/Olivia


Might Be Right  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: Spoilers for 1x10. Set some time after the episode, will almost certainly be made AU by future episodes.

II

Olivia doesn't let herself think about the possibility of Lloyd Simcoe dying. He won't. He was alive in his flashfoward. Even if the rest of it may not come true, that part must. Has to.

Dylan doesn't deserve to lose his father. That's a very good reason. Just not the only one and she doesn't want to dwell on one particular other.

Lloyd Simcoe is going to live, she has already decided.

In this world, she's right.

II

When the FBI brings him in (she isn't sure yet if he's escaped on his own or if he's been rescued, but there's time to find out later), she just watches for a moment, taking in the state of him.

Whoever took Lloyd, they have not been kind to him. His face is bloodied and dirty and his hair looks about as unsettled as she feels. But he is alive, his face lighting up a little as he sees her.

It's strangely sweet.

"Dylan?" he asks as she approaches and she tries to smile reassuringly.

"Dylan is fine."

"I n-need to see him."

"He doesn't need to see you like this," she says gently and he seems to take in his own state for a moment.

"Right. Of course."

"Let me help you," she suggests, guiding him towards a curtain and giving the agents a sign to pull back a little. They seem a little reluctant, but do stay on the other side when she closes the curtain. (They have brought him here for medical treatment, she assumes. There isn't much reason he'd come here otherwise. Is there?)

"You seem to do nothing but help me," Lloyd says after a moment, his voice gentle and holding enough fondness to make her skin prickle a little.

"I also avoided you quite a lot," she comments and he laughs a little until he sharply winces, touching his side. "Broken rib?"

"I don't know," he admits. "They did a lot of..."

He trails off, and she nods a little. She can see what they have done a lot of and she can predict at least some of the lasting damage it will do.

Both father and son should see a therapist specializing in post-traumatic stress disorder, she decides. The best she can locate and owe a favour to.

Lloyd winces a little as she carefully cleans his wounds. She could get a nurse to do this – probably even should – but it is strangely reassuring to touch him. He seems to find it the same, looking less dazed as she proceeds.

"I am sorry you got caught up in this," he says after a while, biting his lips when she feels his side more thoroughly. It doesn't feel like a broken rib, but it could be a fracture.

"Stop apologizing," she says sternly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"They seemed to think so," he says, a peculiar tone to his voice. "Most of the world seems to think so."

"_I _don't think so," she says. He looks at her, as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Then he smiles very softly, reaching out to touch the bruise on her cheek, a finger tracing it gently before he lowers his hand again.

"You got hurt," he says, and sounds as if it pains him.

"Nothing serious."

"It could have been."

"In another world?" she suggests. "But that's not the world we live in now, is it?"

"No," he agrees softly. "I just wish this one had less bruises."

"In yet another world right now, you're probably just waking up to a normal day, all bruise-free," she says lightly, and he cracks a weak smile.

"Getting up in a hurry, trying to get breakfast done," he says, clearly picturing it. "Probably burning the bacon. My wife always thought I was rubbish at it."

"Maybe you're married to someone else in that world," she suggests and their eyes lock.

_Me_, she thinks.

You, he doesn't say, but she can almost see the thought of it in the way he lowers his eyes slightly. This is playing with fire, she knows, or rather playing with a present that would lead to a future she has been determined to avoid.

Problem is, she's starting to see reasons not to avoid it. Like Dylan being someone she'd want to mother. Like Lloyd Simcoe being a good man. Like Mark being so much anger and she being all fatigue. Like how sometimes it's easier to start anew than rebuild.

Like how easy it would be to kiss Lloyd Simcoe right here and right now when he looks at her just like that.

"You might be right," he says softly, but doesn't pursue the subject further.

"All better," she says lightly after a moment. Not quite true, since he still carries a few bruises and a slightly haunted look in his eyes. But at least she's cleaned off the blood and dirt. "You should probably get an x-ray..."

"I need to see my son," he interrupts. "Please, Olivia."

"I'll take you to him," she promises and when he takes her hand, she doesn't pull back.

II

Lloyd Simcoe is going to live. Dylan won't lose a father, and she won't lose the man she possibly met in another world and very possibly was very charmed with.

She watches father and son from a little distance, not really hearing the murmured words between them, but reading the body language loud and clear.

For all the awkwardness Lloyd still displays around his son, he seems to be gaining confidence as well, even making the boy laugh at something. For the trauma they've both suffered, that's not bad at all. Lloyd could become a very good father, for his son and any future children he might have or come to consider his.

When Dylan finally falls asleep, Lloyd seems surprised as he walks out and finds she's still there. He looks exhausted too, and when he staggers a little, she quickly steps to his side and steadies him.

(She can see the FBI agents still watching him from a distance, but they seem to be happy to stay in the background for a while longer. Maybe they've realised they're not going to get answers from an exhausted man.)

"You didn't have to..." he says, trailing off a little before picking up again. "Dylan isn't your patient anymore."

"No, but you are now," she points out and he does a small smile she's come to recognise as 'got me there'. "You need a bit of sleep. Come on."

He walks with her without protest, and she keeps an arm around him for support while she guides him to the nearest empty room she can find. He lies down very carefully, wincing a little as he bends one knee. Another thing she will have to check out properly.

"If Dylan wakes..."

"I'll get a nurse to sit with him and come wake you if he does," she offers, and she catches a flash of disappointment across his face before he nods.

"O-of course. You want to get back to your husband."

"No," she says. She will tell him about Mark losing his job and all that followed that, she decides, but not now. "Mark is not expecting me. I'm going to sit with you."

He looks surprised at that, and can't quite hide his delight either.

"You don't have to," he says sincerely, and she smiles as she pulls a chair close to the bed.

"I know. I choose to. Don't you believe in free will, Mr. Simcoe? Or do you believe in determinism?"

He smiles distantly as he closes his eyes. "There are some who think the two are compatible. That our choices are determined by our character, but are still acts of free will. If our choices were not determined by our character, they would simply be random choices."

She considers it for a moment. "Fate and free will at the same time?"

"Something like that."

"Is that something you believe in? Or are you going to dodge that question too?"

For a moment, she thinks he's fallen asleep and won't answer, but then he murmurs, "I do believe in the many worlds theory, Olivia."

"I think I am beginning to as well," she says softly. "Goodnight, Lloyd."

II

In the morning, she gets Lloyd an x-ray, a full check-up, a referral to a good therapist, and breakfast with bacon in the hospital cafeteria, Dylan present as well.

They all agree it's rather rubbish, but that's all right.

They can try somewhere another time.

(And will, fate and/or free will seem to have already decided.

In this world, they might be right.)

II

FIN


End file.
